Grey Sky, Broken Sword
by RoaringMice
Summary: A hero has fallen. Addiction and a quest for peace.
1. Chapter 1

_Warnings: Swearing, graphically portrayed drug use. _

_Thanks: To Lt. Black Fire, who inspired me to write this piece with her addiction/Malcolm idea. Also to Seether for their song, "Fine Again". And to the talented SueC, my beta. _

_Note: This story takes place during the Xindi missions._

_Disclaimer: I don't own it, I make no money, yadda, yadda, yadda._

x-x

His hand was shaking.

Malcolm closed his fist, glancing around the ready room table to see if anyone had noticed. Luckily, Trip and T'Pol were still engaged in their animated discussion, oblivious to anything but the topic at hand.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He was all right. He could get through this.

Malcolm moved his fingers along the smooth surface of the tabletop. He was fidgeting, and he knew it, but he couldn't stop; he was restless. He tried to concentrate on the exchange between Trip and T'Pol, but it was impossible; he just couldn't focus. He let his eyes wander to the window of the ready room as they continued their discussion over...actually, he'd entirely lost track of what they were talking about. Something about the information he'd obtained, and the Xindi weapon.

That's right, he thought. They were discussing the information he'd been able to get whilst undercover these last few weeks on Denox. Maybe that information would help, and what he'd done to get it would end up being worthwhile. A small sacrifice, perhaps, if they could save Earth.

He saw Denox move into view through the window. I offered myself as a sacrifice, he thought, watching the planet grow larger. I believe that the gods accepted.

He watched the clouds swirling across the globe's surface, the blue of the oceans breaking through the overcast; the planet, jewel-like, suspended against the stars. The stars are not wanted now, he thought, remembering a poem he'd learnt in school. Put out every one. Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Malcolm saw something cross his vision and he jumped, blinking rapidly. He saw that Trip was waving one hand in front of his face.

Trip let his hand drop to the table. "I asked you a question."

"Sorry?" Malcolm replied, trying to concentrate. He knew that it was important that he pay attention, complete the mission. Just get through today, and then maybe tomorrow...

Trip smiled broadly. "Are you in there?"

Malcolm stared at his friend, then answered, "I don't know." His eyes moved back to the window and he pulled at his shirt collar. God, he was suddenly so hot. He wiped his palm across his forehead. Hearing a voice nearby, he turned to see Trip again.

"Maybe you should go see Phlox," Trip said, giving him a strange look.

Malcolm shook his head. "No, it's just a headache. I'm tired." He stood, pushing back his chair. "I should go." He walked away, not giving Trip a chance to respond.

x-x

Entering the armoury, Malcolm walked directly to his office, shutting the door behind him and sitting at his desk. He stared straight ahead, and then, taking a deep breath, grabbed a padd and tried to read, to get caught up.

His vision blurred as he stared at the device. He slammed it to the surface of his desk in frustration, his hand shaking as he moved. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he hunched over, letting his weight rest on his arms as pain wracked his body. "Oh, my God," he said between gasps. Then he put his head down on his arms and took several deep breaths.

He heard his door chime, and he straightened, gathering himself as best he could. After a moment, he said, "Come in."

"I figured I'd find you here," Trip said as he walked through the door. He stopped in front of the desk. "You look like hell."

Malcolm exploded with barely contained fury. "Perhaps if I didn't have so many interruptions, I..." At Trip's look of shock, Malcolm stopped himself in mid-sentence.

"Are you okay?" Trip asked, leaning both hands, palms flat, on the desk.

Malcolm consciously tried to relax. "Yes. Sorry." He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Right," Trip said, drawing the word out. Then he leaned forward across Malcolm's desk. "If something's wrong..."

Malcolm shook his head. "I'm simply tired." He tried to smile. "It was a long mission."

"Listen, we're all under pressure..."

Malcolm interrupted. "Pressure?" he said, snapping off his response. He waved around his desk vaguely. "There isn't time to be sick, or tired."

Trip sank into a nearby seat, then leaned back in his chair, appraising his friend. "Something's wrong."

Malcolm stared at him expressionlessly.

Trip continued. "What happened down there on Denox?"

Malcolm shook his head. "You should mind your own business," he said quietly.

Trip leaned forward again, his surprise at Malcolm's response clear from his expression. "Listen. I'm here for you. You know that, right?" At Malcolm's answering nod, he said, "But everyone's real tense. Now is not a good time for you to break down." He gave Malcolm a pinched smile, and stood. He walked toward the door, triggering it open, then turned back to Malcolm, his expression compassionate. "Just try to hold it together until we get through this," he said softly. "Then we can talk. 'kay?"

Malcolm nodded. Trip gave an insincere smile as he left, and the door closed behind him.

Malcolm buried his face in his hands. Jesus, he'd never be able to get through the day like this. He needed to be able to function. He looked up. Just for today.

He reached down and opened his desk drawer, removing the false bottom. Feeling around that dark space, he pulled out a small, silver box, which he carefully placed on his desk. He opened it and removed some tubing. Yanking up his sleeve, he tied it around his bicep. He thumped his inner arm once, twice, then, leaving that arm in position, took a needle from the box and pulled the cap off with his teeth, spitting it into the nearby bin. He picked up a small vial and inserted the needle, the dark brown liquid filling it to its half-way point. Putting the vial on his desk, he tapped the needle, ejecting a bit of the substance. Then he held the needle over his arm.

He began to shake violently.

Suddenly, he pulled the needle away, throwing it to the floor. Standing, he crushed it under his boot. He ripped away the tubing and tossed it into the bin, then slammed his fist onto the desk.

He heard the sound of the comm. and his head flashed up.

"Lieutenant Reed." It was T'Pol.

"Yes," he replied, his voice shaking slightly.

"We need you in the ready room."

Malcolm straightened. "I'll be there in a moment." As the comm. clicked off, he drew a deep breath, and bent down to pick up the needle. He walked it to the recycler and threw it away. Returning to his desk, he placed his head in his hands.

He couldn't stop. He had to get control. He had to find a way to function.

After a moment, he looked up and saw the vial on his desk. He picked it up and gently placed it back inside the silver case, next to his spare needle. He closed the box, and stared at it in his hand.

x-x


	2. Chapter 2

_Let me know what you think. Reviews are very helpful. _

x-x

As Malcolm exited the lift after the meeting, he felt a strong tug at his arm, and Trip pulled him aside roughly.

"We need to talk," Trip whispered, his eyes flashing. Then he waved him forward. Concerned, Malcolm followed him down the corridor and into Trip's room.

Trip turned on him as soon as the door shut, distressed, his hand thrust forward. "I found this."

Malcolm looked down into Trip's palm and saw his tubing and the cap from his needle. He felt his stomach drop and he looked up sharply. "Have you been searching through my things?"

Trip stepped forward. "What is this?" When Malcolm didn't answer, Trip yanked up Malcolm's sleeve, exposing his arm. Seeing the fairly fresh needle marks in the crook of his elbow, Trip asked, his voice almost plaintive, "What the fucking Christ are you doing to yourself?"

Malcolm pulled his arm away and rolled his sleeve down rapidly. He didn't want people to know...he didn't...he couldn't...he tried to use his anger to focus, but he could feel his heart racing, his breath coming in short gasps.

Trip sank down onto his bed. "Sit, Malcolm," he said, his voice flat.

Malcolm sat next to him, staring at the far wall, the desk, anywhere but at his friend. After a moment, he managed to gain control of his breathing.

"Malcolm..."

"I did it to get close to the smugglers," Malcolm said in a quiet voice. "They were drug runners. There was no other way to complete the mission on Denox." He glanced at Trip, then away. "It was part of my cover."

Trip shook his head. "Jesus."

"I'm trying to stop," Malcolm said, and turned to fully face Trip.

"You need help."

"No. I'll quit on my own." As Trip shook his head, Malcolm leaned forward. "I don't want it to become part of my record." Seeing Trip's doubt, he said, "You don't understand."

Trip took Malcolm's hand. He stared into his friend's eyes, and then he sighed. In a soft voice, he said, "You can't keep working while you're like this. There's no way that someone in this job can be wanting a fix."

Malcolm tried to pull away. "You can't tell anyone."

Trip held his hand firmly. "I can't promise that. This is too important." As Malcolm tried to pull away again, Trip leaned in. In a near-whisper, he said, "This is your life, and perhaps even more than that, this could affect the lives of others. If you weren't doing drugs, you'd see that."

Malcolm stopped struggling, and Trip went on. "I need to at least tell Phlox. And the Captain."

Malcolm sat, staring at his friend. Then he sighed. "Give me an hour."

Trip's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Trip, please. I just want to get my head in order before..." He hesitated. "Before my life changes," he said wryly.

Trip gave a brief nod. "One hour. Then I'll come get you in your quarters, and we're going to Phlox. Right?"

Malcolm nodded and gave Trip what he hoped was a sincere smile.

x-x

Once Malcolm reached his own quarters, he began frantically packing a bag: his knife, ration bars, some random clothing, and toiletries. When the bag was ready, he stripped off his uniform, changing into civilian attire. Picking his uniform up from the floor, he shook it out, then folded it carefully and placed it neatly at the end of his bed.

He lifted his bag, and stepped towards the door. He turned back to his room for one last look, letting his eyes rest on his uniform, the commendations above his bed, and finally a framed photo of himself and Trip, taken on their ill-fated shore leave on Risa. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to compose himself, then triggered the door and left.

Once inside his office, he opened the drawer, slid aside the false bottom, and removed the silver case. Knowing his time was short, he pocketed it and walked quickly to the shuttlebay, striding purposefully to a shuttle, locking its doors shut as he triggered the engines.

Hoshi's voice came across the comm. "Shuttlepod One, please respond." Malcolm ignored her as he triggered the shuttlebay's doors and began lifting off.

The Captain's angry voice was next. "Shuttlepod One. Power down and prepare to be boarded."

Malcolm quirked a half-smile and gunned the engines, moving the shuttle out of the docking bay and into space. Working quickly, he triggered a new trick he'd been wanting to try; something special to take the shuttle off Enterprise's sensors.

Then Trip's voice came over the comm., and Malcolm froze. His friend sounded hurt, betrayed. "Malcolm, what are you doing?"

Malcolm opened the comm. "Trip, I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking.

"Malcolm..."

"I only did it because I had to, and now, I can't stop." He paused, trying to control the shaking in his voice. "I've tried. I can't."

He heard Trip sigh across the link. "You told me that you did what you did for duty, because you had to. But I don't believe that you really had to put a needle in your arm."

Malcolm sat there, unmoving.

"And I don't believe that you really want to stop," Trip continued. "What's your pain, Malcolm? What does the needle make go away?"

Malcolm sat in silence for a moment, shaken. Then he steeled himself and said, "I'm programming the shuttle's beacon to go off an hour after I land so that you can find her and bring her back."

Trip's voice came again. "Malcolm..."

Malcolm turned off the comm. and manoeuvred the shuttle towards the planet below. Denox. Fitting that he should be returning so soon, back to where all this started, he thought. Back to the life he was living whilst he'd been undercover.

He landed in a remote area, setting the shuttle down in a small, well-sheltered clearing. Stepping outside with his bag on his shoulder, he shivered against the cold, wrapping his arms around himself. He tilted his head up towards the sky and let the cold rain trickle down his face.

x-x


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for your reviews. It's gratifying to know that people are reading this, and not only that, but that they like it. _

_Please know that your comments are quite helpful to me._

_As to the point raised by The Libran Iniquity, I hope that I am able to make the reasons somewhat clearer as the story unfolds._

x-x

After a long climb, Malcolm reached a dark landing and knocked on a door. He heard rustling, movement, and the door was opened in a burst of light and noise. Loud music pulsed past the figure of a man haloed against the bright light coming from behind him.

"Hello, Smish," Malcolm said.

"Where've you been?" Smish replied. He looked Malcolm up and down and smiled. "You look like shit." He pushed the door open wider and pulled Malcolm inside.

Malcolm stood there, blinking against the brightness, as the man settled himself into an old couch. He motioned for Malcolm to sit on the chair across from him.

Smish stared at him for a moment, then reached to turn down the music. "Still using?" he asked quietly.

Malcolm looked away. "I'm not sure."

"Sorry, kid," Smish said, sighing. "You know you can't stay here if you're using." Malcolm opened his mouth to speak, but the man cut him off with a wave. "You can stay the night, but then..." He shook his head, seeming truly sorry. Malcolm nodded, and Smish leaned forward, cuffing him lightly on the arm. "Still, it's good to see you. It's been a while."

x-x

Malcolm awoke on a bed in a tiny room, the early morning light coming through the curtains. He lay there, trying not to think about where he was, what he'd done. Trying not to think about the craving. He turned onto his side and curled up, breathing heavily.

He pushed himself to sitting when the door opened and a woman walked in. She closed the door behind her, then leaned back against it, her arms crossed in front of her.

"You are an asshole," she said. "You left without saying goodbye. Where have you been?"

"Shayna..." he said, but before he could complete his reply, she went on.

"Damn junkie," she muttered. Then she looked him over, her eyes piercing as she evaluated him. "Do you want a fix?"

"No," he replied, but nodded, "yes."

Her gaze softened, and she pushed away from the door and settled beside him on the bed. Facing him, she took his hand gently. "You know you can't stay here."

Malcolm nodded. "I know."

"Not while you're using."

He nodded again, then looked away.

She looked at him hopefully. "But if you want to get clean," she said, placing her other hand over his, enfolding his hand between both of hers.

He looked back to her, saying nothing.

She smiled at him sadly, then let his hand go. Standing, she moved to the door and left, closing the door behind her.

He stayed on the bed, staring at the closed door.

x-x

Malcolm shifted his bag to help it rest more comfortably against his back. He stood outside the door to Shayna's building, under the awning, unsure of where to go. It was still raining, and chilly, and he knew from his time here that the nights could get cold enough to kill if you stayed outdoors. He needed shelter, but he couldn't stay here. Not while he was using.

Was he still using? He wasn't sure. But he knew that he couldn't go on like this. The cravings, the withdrawal, the...he was hit with a wave of pain and doubled over. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he said aloud between gasping breaths. He tried to even his breathing, and as the spasm passed, he straightened.

He stared out into the rain, unmoving. Then, bracing himself, he came to a decision, and ducked out into the downpour.

x-x

Malcolm stood outside the dingy house, staring up at the door. It hadn't been long since he'd been here. In fact, he'd spent a lot of time here as part of his cover.

He stepped up onto the porch and stopped outside the door. He didn't want to go in. He turned away, looking out at the desolate street. But he needed shelter while he figured what to do next. He looked up at the grey sky. Enterprise certainly wouldn't want him back, he thought. Then he shrugged that off, turning back to the door. This would just be for a short time. Just for tonight, maybe. Until he could find someplace else.

Malcolm raised his hand to knock, then pulled his hand away. No, he thought. There has to be someplace else. He shook his head and took a step back.

The door opened in front of him, revealing a large man. Seeing Malcolm, he smiled coldly. "Looking for a fix?"

Malcolm shook his head.

The man reached out and grasped Malcolm's arm, tugging him inside and closing the door. "You must need something, or you wouldn't be here, right?"

"I need a place to stay for a while, Zerx," Malcolm replied, glancing around the grubby room.

Zerx stepped back, appraising. "Nothing here is free."

Malcolm let a smile break, knowing that he probably looked half-mad. "I think you know my skills."

Zerx nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I do indeed. I was almost sad when you disappeared." He let Malcolm's arm go. "Maybe tomorrow, I'll have an appropriate job for you. But for now, Harz is packaging some opoidu in the kitchen. Go in there and help him."

Malcolm nodded and moved towards the door at the far end of the room. As he was about to exit, Zerx called out, "Welcome back."

Malcolm froze in his tracks, hesitating for a mere second before going into the other room.

x-x

Malcolm sat at the rickety kitchen table, helping Harz cut the potency of the drug that, from experience, he knew that Zerx was in charge of selling. They worked together to mix the substances, then package it into baggies, neither of them speaking.

Malcolm was tense. It was stupid, foolish, coming here, being around this stuff again, he thought as he worked. How can I quit when it's all around me? He shook his head and kept working, trying not to think, trying to lose himself in the labour. Then a thought came, unbidden, that caused him to stop, hands in mid-wrap. Maybe I came here because I don't want to quit.

"Malcolm?" Harz asked, shoving Malcolm on the shoulder.

Malcolm started. "Sorry," he murmured as he started working again.

Zerx entered and saw the pile of bags that they'd made. "That's good enough for now," he said. He picked up two baggies, tossed one to Harz, the other he handed to Malcolm. "Go off, boys. Enjoy." As Zerx left the room, Harz stood and packed the bags into a nearby box, then left with it.

Malcolm sat at the table, staring down at the bag in his hand.

His hand was shaking.

He closed his eyes, then closed his fingers around the bundle.

Opening his eyes, he stood and went into his room. It was his old room, just as shitty as he'd left it, and someone had placed his bag on the bare mattress.

He sat on the mattress and looked round the room; empty but for the mattress and an old, cracked mirror leaning against the wall. Paper was peeling off the walls, water dripping from one corner of the ceiling. He sat there for a long while, staring at his reflection in the mirror, letting the soft sound of the rain against the window lull him.

Liar, thief, addict, he thought, staring into his own eyes. I wish I could undo this. Undo everything. My whole life.

Turning to his bag, he took out the silver case. He opened it and laid it on his bed, staring down at it.

He'd been trying so hard. The mission was over, and he'd been trying so hard to stop. But now...He shook his head. Now his dreams were dead, and it was too late.

He reached in and removed the vial, sprinkling some of the powder from his baggie into the container. He held the vial between his palms until the heat from his body caused the substance to liquefy. Gazing at the mixture, he swirled it gently and thought about his life: his family, his career, Enterprise, his friends; everything that he was throwing away.

No. Had already thrown away.

Pulling out his needle, he thrust it into the vial, filling it half-way. He pushed up his sleeve and stared down at his arm.

All for the sake of this.

He thumped his inner arm, trying to raise a vein. As he did so, he looked into the mirror again. I did this first for duty, he thought. Now, maybe it will help me to forget.

He looked down and pushed the needle through his skin, into the vein. His hand was shaking, and he pushed the plunger, injecting the drug quickly, before could change his mind.

He pulled out the needle, his eyes rolling back as he felt the rush.

God.

He fell back onto the mattress.

x-x


	4. Chapter 4

_My goal is to have this entire story published here by the weekend, so I'm posting twice today._

_Reviews are better than chocolate. Keep 'em coming! And thank you. I'm so glad to see that the things I intended with this story are coming across._

x-x

Malcolm was walking through the park, cold, chilled to bone, his wet, bulky jumper pulled down over his hands as he tried to keep them warm. He reached up to push his wet hair back from his forehead.

Zerx had sent him there to meet a contact and give him a message, but he'd been waiting in the rain for over an hour. He was getting jumpy; he needed a fix. He'd be all right for an hour or so more, but if he had to stay here waiting in this downpour, it was going to be a long hour.

Sensing someone behind him, he turned, thinking that it must finally be the contact. He blinked rapidly, stunned when he realised who it was.

Trip.

Malcolm's heart sank.

Trip stood there, dressed in civilian clothes, appraising him, and obviously not liking what he was seeing. Malcolm thought about how he must look, and raised an eyebrow, looking back at Trip. In the weeks that he'd been on Denox, Malcolm knew that his hair had grown out, and he'd lost weight - a lot of it, as his clothes were practically floating off him. It was an "occupational" hazard; the drug interfered with appetite, and he hadn't been very focused on eating lately. He was pale, too, another side effect of the drug. And he probably looked like a drowned rat, to top it off.

Malcolm crossed his arms across his chest. "How'd you find me?"

"It wasn't that hard, once I learned about this place," Trip said. He looked about him at the others in the park, relatively crowded despite the rain.

Malcolm followed Trip's gaze. Everyone there obviously, from the look of them, was using opoidu. He nodded, and with a hint of a smile, said, "It is the place to be if you're looking to score."

Trip didn't return his smile. After a moment of silence, he said, "So I kept coming here, hoping to see you."

"And you did."

Trip nodded. "Yeah, eventually." He took a step back, taking in Malcolm's bedraggled appearance. "How you doing?"

Malcolm didn't answer.

After a moment, Trip said, "Can we go someplace warm, get out of this rain?"

Malcolm shook his head, taking a step back. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Malcolm, please. I just want to talk to you."

"That's shite, Trip, and you know it. You're here to take me back."

"That's why they sent me, yes. But that's not why I'm here. I just want to...I needed..."

"To see me like this?" Malcolm replied, arms out, voice rising. "Well here I am, in all my new-found glory." He dropped his arms. "Satisfied?" he practically shouted.

Trip glanced around, seeing that all eyes were on them. He spoke in a low voice. "Come on. You look like you could use something to eat." When Malcolm didn't respond, he tried again. "Let's get out of the rain, warm up for a few minutes."

Malcolm just stood there.

Trip wiped a hand across his face, his distress cracking through his firm demeanour. "Just talk to me. Then you can come with me, or stay here - your choice."

Malcolm nodded slowly, and they started walking, stopping at the first restaurant they saw. The server gave Malcolm a pointed look as they entered. Trip ordered for them both, and the server waved them to a table near the window.

"Rude," Malcolm said, his eyes on the server.

"Well, you don't exactly look yourself, Malcolm," Trip replied.

They sat in silence for a moment, and Malcolm stared out the window, watching the rain stream down the glass, his fingers worrying the cuff of his jumper.

Trip started speaking. "You're not acting like yourself either."

"No, this is me," Malcolm said, still watching the rain fall. "Just a different me."

"Phlox analysed the drug."

Malcolm turned to Trip. "What? How?"

They paused their conversation as the server came back, placing a pastry and two hot drinks on the table. She gave one final, scathing look at Malcolm, then left.

When she was out of earshot, Trip continued. "You'd left some traces in your office." He lifted his cup and took a sip of the drink. "He thinks he can help you stop."

Malcolm frowned slightly.

Seeing the look that crossed his friend's face, Trip asked, "You do want to stop, right?

Malcolm looked down at the pastry, ripping off a piece and fiddling with it.

Trip leaned forward and took Malcolm's free hand. "Malcolm?"

Malcolm raised his eyes to meet Trip's. "I'm not sure how. It's overwhelming."

"Phlox can help."

Malcolm shook his head. "I can't go back there."

Trip waited for him to continue.

"I can't face them. After all this, I just can't."

"You can. I'll help you." Trip hesitated. "Please. We want you back." He rubbed Malcolm's hand with his fingers. "I want you back."

"But my record..."

"The captain told me that your record will show that you did this in the line of duty." He hesitated, searching Malcolm's eyes. "That was the case, right?"

"Yes," Malcolm said, very softly.

"And the shuttle, all that, the record will show that was due to the addiction. Please. You can do this."

Malcolm looked out at the rain. Maybe Trip was right. Maybe he could kick the drug, go back to his old life. He heard himself say, "All right."

Trip squeezed his hand. "Anything here you need to get before we go home?"

Malcolm shook his head. "Not really. Wait, yes, my bag." He stood. "I'll be back in ten minutes." As he tried to walk away, Trip grabbed his arm, holding him firmly.

"Nah, I'll go with you."

Malcolm looked down at Trip, seeing the suspicion in his eyes.

Trip pointed towards their table. "You eat this first, then we'll go get your bag."

Malcolm sat, and Trip released his arm. Malcolm picked up the pastry and made a show of taking a bite. Trip raised an eyebrow, but didn't smile.

"You don't trust me, do you?" Malcolm asked.

Trip replied, "Not right now, no."

Malcolm took another bite, this time sincerely. "Good. You probably shouldn't."

x-x


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you all so much for your comments._

x-x

Walking up to the house with Trip beside him, Malcolm saw the place through new eyes, as he thought Trip must be seeing it: the dirty alley, the porch stacked with refuse, the filthy windows with ripped fabric hanging loosely, blocking the interior view. He turned to Trip. "You should probably wait outside." Trip shook his head, and Malcolm replied with a half-smile. "You won't like this."

He opened the door and lead Trip inside, towards his room. As they passed an open door, he watched as Trip noticed a woman through the doorway, sitting on the floor, shooting opoidu between her toes. Trip flinched and turned away, hissing in a breath, and she looked up expressionlessly.

They entered Malcolm's room and he bent down, tossing things into his bag, watching his friend out of the corner of his eye. As Trip walked towards the window and peered out, Malcolm slipped the silver case and bag of brown powder into his sack, tucking them under his other items. Standing and slinging the bag over his shoulder, he said, "There's someone I'd like to say goodbye to, if that's all right."

x-x

Malcolm knocked on the door of Shayna's flat, smiling as it opened to reveal her. "I wanted to say goodbye."

Shayna smiled. "My goodness." She turned to Trip. "You here to take him home?"

"Yes, ma'am," Trip replied.

"Good." She turned back to Malcolm. "You get clean, you're more than welcome to come back." She leant over and whispered in his ear. "You get well now." Then she kissed his cheek.

Malcolm whispered. "Thank you, for everything."

Shayna nodded, her eyes soft, and she closed the door.

As Malcolm and Trip walked down the stairs, Trip asked, "How do you know her?"

Malcolm smiled. "She and her husband found me after one particularly bad night while I was on that mission. I was sleeping on some church steps, and they'd come to set up for the morning's service. They run a treatment program..."

Trip stopped walking. "Why didn't you join?"

Malcolm turned to him. "I was on the mission. I wasn't ready."

Trip looked at him carefully. "Are you ready now?"

"I think so."

x-x

Malcolm stared down at his knees, his legs dangling off the sickbay bed. He grasped the edge of the bed with his hands as he tried to control the shaking. He was going to be in trouble if he didn't get a fix soon. The headache was already starting.

He heard the door open and lifted his head slowly, turning to see Captain Archer striding across sickbay towards him.

"Lieutenant," Archer said briskly.

"Captain," Malcolm replied, trying hard to focus on the man, rather than his building need for the drug.

"There are some questions I need to ask."

Malcolm nodded. He could tell that the captain was angry. Furious, actually. But he wasn't sure that he cared. The man could ask whatever questions he wanted. He doubted that Archer trusted him enough to believe his answers.

"You went undercover in early January," Archer said, peering down at the padd in his hand. "And discovered information about this Zerx person a week later. According to what you'd told me, you didn't actually meet with Zerx and the other the drug runners until February." He lowered the device. "And yet you told Trip that you started taking opoidu within a week of your arrival on Denox."

"I was trying to pass as a junkie, and I needed to be prepared," Malcolm said forcefully.

"You didn't have to actually use the drugs," Archer said.

Malcolm felt himself trembling, and he wasn't sure if it was the need for the drug, or his own anger. "If I was faking, they would have known."

"You didn't tell anyone."

"You told me to do whatever I had to do," Malcolm shouted. He lowered his voice, then said with venom, "Got the information we needed, didn't I?"

Archer nodded crisply, fury still burning in his eyes.

"Captain, please leave." Malcolm turned to see Phlox standing nearby, quite obviously angry. "This patient is not ready for questioning."

Archer turned and left without another word.

x-x

"He needed to be sure that this really was job related, Malcolm," Trip said from his seat beside Malcolm's biobed.

"He was quite angry," Malcolm replied, his legs hanging off the edge of the bed, one foot twitching nervously.

"You know him. He'll get over it. He's just angry because he's upset." When Malcolm didn't respond, Trip said, "No one blames you."

"The captain certainly seemed to be accusing me of something." Malcolm turned as Phlox passed nearby. "I'd like to stay in my own room tonight."

Phlox stopped and turned to his patient. "It's your first night here. That is not a good idea."

Malcolm hopped down from the bed. "Please. I can't sleep here." He glanced around the room restlessly. "It's bad enough when I'm normal, but right now..."

"I could administer a sedative."

Malcolm put both hands up in defence, his heart pounding. "No, no more drugs," he said frantically. He took a step back.

"You should not be alone," said the Doctor.

"I'll stay with him," Trip said.

Phlox turned to Trip. "Are you certain?"

Trip nodded.

Phlox turned back to Malcolm. "For tonight only. I'll expect you back here at 08:00 hours."

x-x

Malcolm stared at himself in his lavatory mirror. He looked rough. Thinner, certainly. Older, perhaps. He leant down and splashed his face with water, then grabbed a towel. He took a deep sniff of the towel and smiled. One good thing about being back: clean laundry.

He bent as a spasm hit, one hand propped against the edge of the sink. He took several slow, deep breaths, and waited for the pain to pass. Once it did, he straightened and glanced into the mirror again. He threw the towel against his reflection in disgust, and triggered the door.

He waved Trip into the lav as he stepped out into his room. After the door closed behind his friend, Malcolm moved to his bed and slid the bag out from under it. He reached inside and pulled out his silver case. Working quickly, he poured some of the powder into the vial, warming it until it liquefied. Then he filled his syringe half-full. He pushed up his sleeve, then paused, listening as Trip ran water in the lav. Malcolm stared at the syringe, the brown liquid moving slightly as his hand shook.

He'd betrayed his captain, his ship, and his crew. Worse, he'd betrayed his friends. His gaze moved to the lavatory door. And Trip. Worst of all, what he'd done - what he was about to do - to Trip.

Malcolm moved the needle away and hunched forward. He was disgusting. How had he lost control so quickly?

But why try to fight it now? It was too late, and it wasn't worth the struggle. He straightened. There was only one person to blame this on. He smiled coldly. Easy enough to fix.

Malcolm again pierced the top of the vial with his needle, this time filling it. He smiled. With a firm hand, he stuck it into his vein and released the plunger.

He saw Trip enter the room talking, then the look of shock on his friend's face as the scene registered.

Malcolm managed to get out, "Sorry," before the blackness rushed in.

x-x


	6. Chapter 6

_This is the final chapter. Thank you, all, for your comments._

x-x

There were voices fading in and out, some words breaking through, the rest a blur of noise. "Overdose..." Was that Phlox?

"Why?" That sounded like the captain.

How could they not understand? He had to do it. He had no choice. It needed to stop.

Then he heard Trip's voice, close by. "I watched him do it, Captain. I saw him, but I couldn't..."

The voices faded in a rush, and Malcolm was taken by the waves.

x-x

Malcolm opened his eyes and he squinted against the light. It was too damn bright. He heard a groan, and saw movement nearby.

He heard Trip's voice. "Malcolm?"

He realised that the groan was his own. He tried to stop, to turn his head, but it was too much. It was all too much.

x-x

Someone was screaming, and Malcolm's eyes flashed open. He tried to bring his hands up to his ears to block the noise, but his arms and legs were restrained. He struggled, and there was movement all around him. He whipped his head to the side.

He heard voices, Trip's voice. He stopped struggling and tried to focus. "Trip?" he said into the sudden silence. His throat hurt, and he realised that he'd been the one screaming.

He felt a hand on his forehead, brushing back his hair. He heard a voice, but couldn't understand what was being said. "Trip?" he asked again.

He heard more words, the sound soothing. The hand moved to his arm and rubbed it gently. He felt himself sinking into the surface of the bed. He tried to call out, but he went under. He was lost.

x-x

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling above him. The room was silent. He felt odd. Something was different.

He heard a soft snore from nearby, and turned to see Trip sleeping in a chair, his head thrown back, a book on his lap. Malcolm smiled. Trip's neck was going to hurt when he woke.

Malcolm tried to sit up. He shifted in the bed, pushing himself up with his arms, falling back with a muffled thump and a muttered swear, surprised to find himself so weak.

He watched as Trip's eyes opened and his friend raised his head with a wince, one hand going to the back of his neck. Raising his eyes, Trip saw Malcolm. Then he smiled.

Malcolm stared at his friend, unsure. He'd done so much to destroy their friendship, but there Trip was. Smiling. It was...odd. "Why are you here?" he asked softly.

Trip leaned forward in his chair. "What do you mean?"

Malcolm rolled onto his side, facing Trip. He was trembling, so he curled in on himself slightly, drawing his legs up. "After everything I've done, why are you here?"

"You can't do this alone."

"But how can you?" Malcolm let his voice trail away, unsure of what he was trying to ask. He pushed himself up, and Trip stood and helped him sit. After Trip had stepped back, Malcolm continued. "You said something when I took the shuttle." Malcolm rubbed his inner arm. "That you didn't think I had to do this."

Trip tried to speak, but Malcolm ploughed on. "That I didn't want to stop. That the drugs were helping take the pain away." He felt himself start to rock, back and forth, but he couldn't stop the movement.

"You're getting upset," Trip said, trying to interrupt.

"You have to believe that I did this because I had to," Malcolm said. He could feel his anxiety building. "There was no other way." His breath started coming in short gasps.

Trip nodded frantically. "Okay." He glanced around the room, obviously hoping to see Phlox or one of his technicians nearby.

Malcolm closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing, taking several measured breaths until he regained his control. After a moment, he opened his eyes. More calmly, he said, "But once I started, I couldn't stop."

"I know," Trip replied.

"I was drowning, watching everything slip away. Then, when you confronted me, I could feel everything closing in, crashing down." He looked away from Trip. "So I let myself drown."

"Why?"

Malcolm shook his head. He reached to the bottom of the mattress and grabbed a blanket, his hands shaking as he struggled to pull it over his shoulders. He felt Trip's hands as his friend helped him, but Malcolm didn't look at Trip. He couldn't. "It made me forget. I didn't care anymore." His voice started rising again. "About anything. I didn't..."

"Shh..." Trip said, settling beside him on the bed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Malcolm stared off into the room. "All that pain, Trip. It was gone. For those moments, it was gone, at least for a little while. And I knew that I was in trouble, that what I was doing was wrong, but I didn't care."

Malcolm pulled away from Trip and turned to face him. "I really thought that I could handle it," he said. "By the time I realised that I couldn't, I was lost. And I couldn't see it getting better. I'd let everyone down, destroyed their trust, my own honour, everything."

Trip reached out and grasped Malcolm's hand. "You don't have to carry it all on your shoulders. You can talk to me, Malcolm."

Malcolm didn't answer. He couldn't. If he spoke, he was afraid that he'd break apart. Instead, he squeezed Trip's hand. After a moment, he was able to say, "Thank you."

Malcolm felt a tremor run through his arm, and Trip looked at him carefully. "If you had the drug here, would you do it again?"

Malcolm paused to think. How honest should he be? He stared back at Trip. His friend had given him so much. Despite everything that he'd done, Trip was still here.

Trip deserved better than anything that Malcolm could offer. The least he could do was be honest.

So finally, he answered, "I don't know. I might."

"Why?"

"I know it seems strange, but for those moments, it brought me peace." At Trip's worried look, Malcolm tried to smile.

"There are other ways to find peace," Trip said, his voice shaking. Trip squeezed his hand, hard. "I have to ask. Did you overdose on purpose?"

Malcolm froze and his hand twitched, but Trip didn't let go.

"I couldn't see another way. I thought..."

"Malcolm?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you still feel that way?"

Malcolm thought a moment. "No."

Trip smiled slightly. "I'm glad that you're still here."

Malcolm smiled. "So am I."

x-x

The poem is by W. H. Auden


End file.
